


We're The Stars They Don't Speak Of

by SilverShortyyy



Series: Not Even Hell Can Vouch For Us [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 15:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11877747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverShortyyy/pseuds/SilverShortyyy
Summary: aka We're The Unsung Legends Not Even Hell Can Be Proud OfThree. It was Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa: three perfect sisters with Bella as the Queen-To-Be Black. Four. Then there was Sirius, a blazing bright star to be the King to Bella's Queen. And they were both blazing bright. Five. Then there was Regulus, Prince Black Charming.Four. Sirius is burned off at sixteen. Three. Andromeda leaves in betrayal. Two. Regulus dies in duty. One. Bella dies in the fray.Narcissa looks back and up into the stars, and only at midnight does she let herself speak their names.





	We're The Stars They Don't Speak Of

For a thousand years and countless eternities, the stars had shined down the world when the sun sunk below the horizon and the darkness of the night sky prevailed. She used to think she was different; different in the sense of her name, different in the sense of purity, different in the sense of being untainted by the madness running through their veins.

She is unlike them: unique in that she is named after an innocently blooming posy in their summer home’s flowerbeds, gleaming up at the glaring light of day, while they were all named after stars from a distant past. Unlike them, her hair was brushed with silver and her skin dusted with snow, her lips embalmed with cherry juice and her irises dipped in ice. They all had eyes that rivalled night, and more than half of them with dark hair. She is unlike them: saved from the insanity and madness even when she was encased in dying green wallpaper, even when everyone else became hollow walking shells all drowned out of reality.

Or so she’d like to think.

But, her husband often supplies, she’s the purest of the rotten lot, so pure that it’s worth wondering how she was even born from such a lineage in the first place.

Sometimes, she condemns the filthy nature of her blood; scandalous and incestuous and so, so animalistic; an understandable desperation but, was it all necessary? She sees the stars and it blinds her, disgusts her, and yet she is drawn to them.

The silk beneath her fingers that falls freely on her skin reminds her of the days of a distant past. And she wonders if it was always bound to end this way.

In her story books, the grandparents would live to see the grandchildren, and sometimes the great grandchildren, and the siblings and cousins would live in harmony after an age of reckless immaturity passes. And everyone would smile, smile for the camera, but not only when the camera was there, not only when the flashes blind steeled eyes.

She looks up into the midnight sky, and into the brightest star of all.

 _Sirius_.

Narcissa was ten years old when they first see the flame, the first spark of a renegade in Sirius’ bright soul. The heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, but were it not for him, it would’ve been Bellatrix.

Narcissa thinks these days had he not estranged himself, he would’ve been a great heir. As much as she loves her sister, even she can see the madness prevalent in those eyes. Even before Bellatrix fell for Lord Voldemort, she was already toying the line between the madness and insanity.

But then again, so was Sirius.

They had been walking through a Muggle town, for the sake of teaching small Regulus a lesson than Muggles were not meant to be mingled with. They had nearly forgotten, though, that it was also Sirius’ first time to be around such a tantamount crowd of Muggles. One would think they should have kept him in the house until his Hogwarts years; it might have proved better for the House of Black.

“What’s wrong with Muggles?” Sirius had asked on the dinner table. “I don’t see anything wrong with them.”

“Sirius, dear, they may look like us from the outside,” Aunt Walburga had spat, trying and failing to keep the venom from her voice, “but on the inside they are vile, disgusting, filthy ingrates much unlike us wizards.

“They are non-magic folk. Powerless! And in their powerlessness, they revert to feral means to be able to hold themselves as equal to us. But they will never be like us. Not even if the sky fell.”

“But what makes you think so? They weren’t doing anything to us! They were just—”

“You will _not_ answer your mother like that, Sirius Black! Especially not in defense of _Muggles_! Bellatrix could tell you a thing or two of what vile things Muggles have done, what disgusting deeds they are capable of doing!”

“But aren’t we just as capable? What makes us any different?”

The light was bright in Sirius’ eyes that dinner, unrelenting as Aunt Walburga’s fury. She had screamed and shouted until not even Kreacher could keep her from making a mess, and Sirius just fought harder, stronger than Aunt Walburga’s former toss and when she threw fiercer, her fought back even harder.

Sirius was six when he first ignited his flame, when his star first burst into life and lit up the darkness in the night sky. But Narcissa refused to look at him, still refuses to this day; he was a false light, a blinding mistake. He wasn’t worth the House of Black falling into the wrong hands.

(Though the Sorting Hat never says so, Narcissa would never have a penchant for Ravenclaw. She followed family and tradition wherever she went, without wisdom nor wit for the reasons why.)

The midnight sky well above head shines with the star-studded constellation of Orion, and in that constellation, a star Narcissa never failed to seek in the dark.

She was the last to leave her.

 _Bellatrix_.

Narcissa liked to think they would grow up together, the three of them, then the four of them, then the five of them.

But five became four then three then two, and Narcissa realized it was impossible for her dreams to come to even the slightest bit of fruition. At least, she frequently thought to herself, Bellatrix was still there.

But even with Bellatrix around, Narcissa was alone.

Bellatrix was a soul toying between the line of eccentric and insane. She was mad, yes, but most people thought only because she was born into such an incestuous family. In-breeding, they say, took a toll. And so Narcissa accepts that, but why did Bellatrix have to be that way?

Bellatrix barely cared about appearances, could be called a ‘slut’, a ‘whore’, a ‘murderer’, and a ‘bitch’ all in five minutes and would only respond with one, nonchalant line.

“At least this bitch murder _ess_ can keep your boyfriend coming.”

Narcissa would cherish the times she could spend in solitary halls that echo floor to ceiling with the click-clack of her school shoe heels, no haunting reminder of disgustingly displayed beheaded elf heads or despondent dying green wallpaper. There, she wouldn’t have to be restraint when thinking about her elder sister’s lack of judgement, her recklessness, her _irresponsible behavior_ , and Merlin be damned, Narcissa loves her family and her sister, but couldn’t Bellatrix be a little less vulgar?

Narcissa is at least thankful that Bella doesn’t really give her body away. Not in the way Muggles are known to do, for money and sometimes for no reason at all. No, Bella uses her body, sculpts her body into a tool for manipulation.

Unlike Narcissa, Bellatrix can effortlessly mastermind anything she puts her heart into.

‘A prodigious witch with no conscience’, they call her. Narcissa often thinks what they would say if they knew about her prowess even before magic comes into play.

Bellatrix was powerful, yes, but she was improper and boisterous and mad.

Even Narcissa admits that.

And then Andromeda left.

However improper and boisterous and _insane_ and mad Bellatrix was, Narcissa cherished it, revelled in it, learned to love it. Bellatrix was all she had left. Narcissa had thought she would look in the mirror when she was sixty years of age and see Andromeda smiling back at her from behind the chair, brushing Narcissa’s silver strands, but no, she had to go, she had to do the most idiotic reason for betrayal there is.

Had Andromeda thought nothing of Narcissa, leaving her like that for a _Mudblood_? Of all the actual _men_ , Andromeda chose him?

And the greatest pain that night came not from the flame that burned Andromeda off the tree, nor the curses Bellatrix screamed in Andromeda’s bedroom, but in the loss of a sister, in the betrayal, in the gaping hole Narcissa had in her heart once she knew Andromeda was gone.

Never to come back.

Traded in family—traded in _Narcissa_ , her own sister, if the rest of the _Merlin-fucked_ family was worth throwing away—for love.

That night, that pain, that endless darkness pecked with not one star in the sky, made Narcissa promise not to let Bellatrix fall away too.

Narcissa cried the whole night, and could not feel for days. But, as it is, she put up a face. And since then she revelled in her _only sister_ ’s madness, in that she felt her anguish release in Bellatrix’s rage, but also because eventually, she learned to love the darkness and insanity in Bellatrix’s eyes.

They began to spend more and more time together, and soon dusk would fade into dawn and they’d be separable as magic and wizard. As time passed, Narcissa would see deeper into Bellatrix’s black eyes, and sometimes Narcissa would even see a little blue in there, a sad blue, a streak of grief and fear that Bellatrix would never let anyone see.

In the peeking daylight from Bellatrix’s curtained window, they would hold each other in her arms and Narcissa would know, just _know_. Just know that the night the world fell apart and the night her heart was torn open, Bellatrix’s was ripped if not just the same then even more savagely.

Bellatrix, after all, had been the eldest in their frenzy of three, and then five.

When it comes to it, Bellatrix is the one Narcissa would call her ‘favorite’. Despite Bellatrix’s recklessness and insanity, she was always the only one who understood Narcissa. She understood Narcissa’s infatuations, inclinations, tendencies, and interests. She understood Narcissa’s wills and pains and ambitions, despite not sharing them.

Most of all, she understood Narcissa’s obedience to the Black family traditions. Andromeda was always neutral, though Narcissa never saw past the ‘sane sister’ act. Sirius was a renegade. And Regulus was like a child sifting his way through a deck of cards, trying to learn each card to the deepest possible level.

(Narcissa doesn’t understand curiosity towards society. She accepts it the way it was handed to her; no more, no less. She often spent her growing up days in blissful, icy solitude, anyway.)

The midnight sky grins with the Chained Maiden’s constellation, and Narcissa marvels how she sees her truth in the metaphor, despite others having whispered the exact opposite.

 _Andromeda_.

When all three of them were of Hogwarts age, Andromeda was the one who looked after Narcissa on the most part. Bellatrix was older, wilder, and had more social business than the two of them put together.

Narcissa recalls Andromeda being the one she sat beside on her first ever train ride to Hogwarts, the responsible elder sister while Bellatrix was off being Bellatrix with a prominence for, apparently, blowing up the trolley and getting a mouthful from the trolley lady when she was only about to become a first year. Instead of apologizing, Bellatrix just laughed it off, and so did everyone, because admittedly that was the funniest mishap to ever happen on the train.

Andromeda would have Narcissa with her for the first couple of months of the year, tagging along to study in the library or to dip their feet in the lake. But of course, as much as Andromeda’s mellow and friendliness was pleasant to Narcissa, it would never compare to spending time with people her own age.

So, after the first couple of months, Narcissa began to want to spend time with other first years at the same time Andromeda began pushing her to go say hi to Lucius. Whether or not Andromeda had pushed her, Narcissa thinks proudly, she’d have said hi at some point. But that ultimately led to Narcissa befriending other first years, and with the connections of her new-found friends, befriending Lucius Malfoy.

Even if they hadn’t met like that, Narcissa knows he’d have become her friend. There was no one else for her, nor for him.

Months pass by and as do the years, and soon enough Bellatrix is graduated and Andromeda’s an unstable teenager. Narcissa had thought it was normal, the detached, neutral way Andromeda was becoming; more neutral than usual. There was more bite to that tone, more venom, and Narcissa used to think it was only because of the peak stage of being a teenager.

In Andromeda’s seventh year, she finally burst. Into a nova not as bright as Sirius is a star, but bright enough to catch attention.

Narcissa remembers thinking how tainted Andromeda had become, tainted after _falling love_ (what did Andie even see in him?) with a _Mudblood_.

Under the blanket of the stars of the night, she remembers the last day of Andromeda’s seventh year, and how none of them were surprised Andromeda’s room was emptied save for the things that reminded her of family. Narcissa remembers seeing the necklace she made with magic among the things Andromeda left.

The stars did not show that night. And Narcissa never could tell if her sobs or Bellatrix’s curses were louder, or if the flame licking the tapestry was never actually put out and crackled in the ghost of the night.

There was only three of them left that night, and Narcissa never counts her parents and her aunt and uncle because there were _five of them_ , and she doesn’t want to think about why it became four and why it became three because despite it all, _they were five_. And Narcissa questions how it couldn’t have just been a dysfunctional family through life till death.

Of the three of them left, one cried in her bedroom, asking the stars why. Another cursed the haunted room of reminders left behind. And the other, the other one, Narcissa never can recall if he made any noise.

Narcissa finds the constellation of the lion, her pointer finger tracing the outline then ultimately landing on its heart.

 _Regulus_.

He, she thinks, is probably the sanest and of most sound mind of their entire family.

Except for her, of course. She’s special. (Or so she’d like to think.)

He was the youngest of the five of them, and yet he was the only one apart from her who followed the path laid out for him. He was a good student and a good son, and a good nephew and cousin. He was the only one who had half as much brains as Bellatrix with the same amount of loyalty to tradition, with at least as much etiquette as Narcissa herself. He didn’t have his brother’s feral stupidity; he didn’t have Andromeda’s penchant for impurity. Rather he brought enough honor to the family that it became less talk of the Black Heir Who Befriended Half-Bloods, Half-Breeds, and Mudbloods.

She’d like to think Regulus was her twin brother in another life, because he acted exactly the way he should given his skills and ancestry, and though he wasn’t the best he certainly could have been. Had he had such ferocity as Sirius and such intelligence and talent as Bellatrix, with his loyalty to the Blacks, he could have done anything. He was cool-headed and proper; if Narcissa did not have Lucius Malfoy to choose, she thinks she would have chosen to wed him.

Though, the idea disgusts her just a little bit. If necessary, she would have done that. He was, in fact, the only other choice she’d give herself if she had to marry in the family.

Narcissa doesn’t have a great many memories with Regulus, though he was always a gentleman. He was a gentleman in a way unlike anyone she regularly sees, for even with Lucius she doesn’t see his smile radiate the same kind of warmth Regulus does. With Lucius, it was sometimes icy. With Regulus, it was always a warmth given freely from the heart.

Narcissa wonders regularly how Regulus could do any of it. It was impossible to decipher, and yet, it was who he was, simple as that.

He was true to his word, always, and eventually died because of it, never once have shown regret for his loyalty to his causes.

Narcissa simply regrets the fact that he didn’t choose his battles as well. He could have saved himself, yet he chose to keep going. With that, Narcissa knows she would choose Lucius even if his hair was black.

For a thousand years and countless eternities, the stars had shined down the world when the sun sunk below the horizon and the darkness of the night sky prevailed. But these days, Narcissa can see that of the galaxy of stars in the sky, the midnight has since ceased to have any sort of brightness.

Maybe a stray twinkle here and there. And a speck somewhere near the middle.

But, she thinks, all that’s left in the dark is a single blooming flower in their summer home flowerbeds, with white petals facing the heavens and a yellow center bringing the white together.

Sirius went out like a supernova seen from millions and millions of light years away.

Andromeda died out with a sputtering light before disappearing completely.

Regulus blinked once and became darkness save for a little, infinitesimal blast.

And Bellatrix, Bellatrix exploded as Sirius did, for different reasons but the same ferocity, the same destructive tenacity, and Narcissa counts them down until the dawn surfaces, until all that’s left is the flower among stars.

When the sun erases all traces of the dark, their names never leave her lips again, and everyone is wise enough not to mention it.

**Author's Note:**

> So here's one of what I expect to be many more plotlets that I'll come up with for the House of Black. Specifically, those five. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
